James Ackhurst: ‘Firework Night in the Hospital’ and ‘Keepsake’

Firework Night in the Hospital

Down at the end of the surgical ward
a crowd is gathering for the show.
For once, something’s more interesting
than puzzles or the newspaper,
something that draws us from our rooms,
where watchful screens still flicker, wanly.
Chairs are turned round carefully
to face the glass end of the hall.
It’s Fawkes Night in the hospital,
and these, the best seats in the house.

This floor-to-ceiling window marks
the end-point of my daily quest.
Each day I rally from my rest
and, at the nurses’ urging, trek
along the whitewahsed corridor
to where a single, sharp incision
has detached the clinical
from the everyday. And reattached:
so that we gather here to view
familiar fireworks, alien rites.

The fireworks look so small from here
it’s like some dwarf artillery
is weakly challenging the stars
with shells stuffed with confetti; yet
they bring with them a quiet wonder,
and we watch with silent joy,
they way you watch a tiny fire
on winter evenings when…